


Moments of Impact

by heisenfox



Category: The Social Network (2010), The Vow (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6017098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heisenfox/pseuds/heisenfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark doesn’t say anything, just dips his head so it bumps against Dustin’s shoulder. He’s got a theory too. Mark’s theory is about moments. Moments of impact. His theory is that these moments of impact, these flashes of high intensity that completely turn lives upside down, actually end up defining who we are. </p>
<p>That each one of us is the sum total of every moment that we've ever experienced, with all the people we've ever known. And it's these moments that become our history. Like our own personal greatest hits of memories that we play and replay in our minds over and over again. </p>
<p>That’s his theory. That these moments of impact define who we are. But what Mark never considered was what if, one day, you could no longer remember any of them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has been a WIP for almost a year. it's still a WIP but I'm finally on track to finishing it! hopefully the whole thing will be up very soon! anyway I'm a million years late to this fandom and I'm obsessed with The Vow and I love dying and being dead so I present to you this pain.

All the movies say things like how life flies by or comes at you pretty fast; none of them mention how loss comes that much more quickly. How every minute decision we make leads to a different path, or how all of these paths lead to more different paths, how each one has a different outcome. In the end, we wonder if we could have stopped the events that came to be; hindsight's always 20/20, after all. But in the moment, in the split-second decisions, we give in to impulse. We don't hesitate.

Even when we do, once it's done, we can't take back our choices. Even, and most especially, when that's all we wish we could do. Every decision counts. Every decision leads to whatever our end may be. And sometimes, the end isn't the end we imagined it would be after all. Sometimes, in the face of potential and near-certain death…death is the path we wish had been taken.

* * *

If you asked, on any given day, at any given time, what the single best moment of Mark Zuckerberg’s life was, he wouldn't give an answer pertaining to the creation of Facebook. He wouldn't say it was the moment the site launched, wouldn't say it was the moment Peter Thiel gave an angel investment of $500,000, wouldn't say it was the day they hit a million members. He would say it was the day Dustin Moskovitz dragged him to a party at AEPi, the day he lingered alone, leaning against the wall, wondering if he should just leave, if anyone would notice. It was that day, because that day held the moment Eduardo Saverin crossed the room and started talking to him for no apparent reason. Because that was the day his whole world changed.

* * *

The steady, rhythmic beeping of the monitors hooked up to Eduardo have been driving Mark crazy for the past six hours; he has to remind himself again and again that the steadiness means Eduardo is stable, means he's alive, means there's a higher chance he'll be okay. He keeps playing the crash over in his mind, again, again, again. Wondering if there had been a way to avoid it. To somehow have seen the patch of black ice. To swerve the car so that he had been the one "critically" injured and in the bed. 

It shouldn't have been Eduardo. It shouldn't have happened at all. He berates himself; how can he be a literal genius and still manage to do something like this? Surely there was something he had done wrong. Some way he could have stopped it. Some way he could have saved Eduardo. He prays, even though he never really had any sort of faith. He ignores the fact that Eduardo's parents are on their way, pretends Eduardo will be happy to see them, happy they care. He worries about how things are at Facebook, about how Chris is going to spin this for the press, how people are going to point at him and whisper about how he put his husband in the hospital and nearly killed him; he worries about the fact that he's already agreeing with every negative word that isn't yet written.

The beeping continues, slow, steady, piercing. Mark fiddles with the bandages on his forehead, pokes at his stitches with half-hearted interest. Dustin texts and asks if he should come by; Mark tells him there's no point yet. Eduardo hasn't woken up. It's been six...no, seven hours now. Eduardo should have woken up. The doctors said there was minimal brain swelling; Mark panicked at the word 'swelling' being used at all. He's half-listened to enough of Grey's Anatomy to know that swelling of the brain is a Very Bad Thing. He talks himself down as best as he can and listens to the doctor's hopeful tone; Mark has never liked doctors. They remind him of lawyers, of prostitutes even; part of their job description is to keep you calm and happy for as long as possible. Lawyers do it in the form of assuring you they can win your case. Prostitutes do it by assuring you that for the evening, they love you with all their heart. Doctors, though, are the worst; they achieve this by promising you your loved ones will be okay, even when the doctors themselves can't truly know what will happen. There's a reason they call it _practicing_ medicine, he thinks.

* * *

Eduardo quickly becomes Mark's best friend; they have different majors but most of their undergrad classes correlate anyway, so they spend most of their nights in Mark's dorm at Kirkland nursing beers and bitching about their professors or their stupid assignments. The nights when Eduardo gets tipsy enough that his face tints pink are Mark's favorite; those are the nights Eduardo is less likely to catch him staring. And Mark does stare. A lot.

It's not really his fault and he couldn't pinpoint one particular reason why if you asked him. Sometimes it's because Eduardo has this ridiculous head of hair that seems to stick up in all possible directions; he's asked him more than once if it defies gravity, and if he can perform experiments on it. Other times, he's staring at Eduardo's eyes. His big, soft, sad doe eyes. Mark has always thought brown eyes were boring, were plain; Eduardo somehow makes them enigmatic, makes them deep, makes them beautiful. 

Most days, though, Mark stares because Eduardo simply is. He can't fathom how he became best friends with someone so kind, so funny, so honest. How someone so downright beautiful would ever see Mark in a room and think, _'Yes. You look like someone I would want to be friends with.'_ So he stares. He stares and he wonders and he doesn't get caught most of the time. And it's good; it's great, really. It's the best thing, and it's Mark's favorite pastime.

Eduardo stares at Mark too, but Mark never catches him. When Eduardo stares, there's hope all over his face, but his eyes betray a fear. Mark is far more acerbic than Eduardo, is more prone to being unkind, goes through friends like they're tissue. Sure, Chris and Dustin are comforting constants to Eduardo's fears, but it's not quite enough. He stares and he worries that one day Mark will realize Eduardo isn't as smart as him. That one day he'll look up and ask _'What in the world am I doing talking to you?'_ That he'll leave him behind.

When it does happen, Mark doesn't see it as leaving Eduardo behind; Eduardo doesn't understand how something can hurt so much if you never even risked your soul by saying those three words.

* * *

When hour eight rolls around and Eduardo still hasn't woken up, Mark pulls out his phone again. There are about a hundred messages from his parents, from Dustin, from Chris, even from Sean. Everyone is asking if they're okay, what hospital they're at, if there's anything they need; Chris and Dustin's ask if Eduardo has woken up yet, if there have been any changes, if he's sure he doesn't need them there.

He deletes half of the notifications, sends quick texts to his mom and Sean saying they're alive but Eduardo is still being checked out, and then he takes a deep breath and calls Chris. The phone barely manages half a ring before he hears Chris's breathless "Hello?" on the other end.

"He hasn't woken up yet."

Chris releases a shaky breath. "That doesn't have to mean anything, Mark. Sometimes the body just needs a minute to heal."

"But it's been eight hours. They said there was brain swelling." Mark winces at how terrified he sounds, at how his voice shakes, at how strong the urge to cry is becoming.

He hears some things shuffling in Chris's arms, and can tell even before Dustin starts to talk that he passed the phone over. "Listen, Mark, you and Eduardo found your way back to each other after the lawsuit, okay? So, even if he's passed out right now and his brain might be a little sore, I'm positive he's gonna wake up and laugh at you for worrying. When has he ever managed to stay away?"

The phone passes hands again, and Chris is speaking before Mark even has a chance. "What floor are you guys on?"

"We -- what? You're here? I said I didn't need --"

"Yeah, and we decided that was stupid, and of course you do. What floor, Mark?"

Mark tries to ignore how gentle Chris's voice sounds; Chris hasn't broken out that tone since after the depositions. "Fifth. Next to the ICU. Room 511." The fifth floor is dedicated entirely to the ICU and the neuro department. He wonders if Chris and Dustin will notice this as they come up, wonders if they’ll see the word “neuro” and be filled with the same panic that is threatening to destroy Mark.

* * *

Dustin had a point; Mark and Eduardo always did find their way back to one another, somehow. The depositions completely _destroyed_ everything they ever were, and in one fell swoop, with one small _“Oops,”_ Mark saw everything they ever _could be_ wiped away. The algorithm on the window at Kirkland, the AEPi party, Eduardo getting punched by the Phoenix, the way Eduardo would preface his every decision with _“My father wouldn’t…”_ all became part of Mark’s past. 

There was no future left for he and Eduardo, of that he was certain; that fact was written in every frown line on Eduardo’s face, in the tension of his shoulders, in the bitterness of his voice. Eduardo didn’t want anything to do with Mark, now, or ever, and Mark didn’t know how to continue without Eduardo.

When the depositions ended and Mark was left alone, left without Eduardo, he buried himself in his work. Facebook flourished and became something he never dared to dream it would become; he always wanted it to go far beyond the stupid ‘HarvardConnection’ that the Winklevii had pitched him all those months ago, wanted it to be a way to make your social network accessible at your fingertips.

He never once let himself hope it would be international, never let himself pray that it would become a phenomenon, never listened to Sean Parker’s insistence that it would be about more than just having your social circle available to you from any internet connection. Yet, here he is, with Facebook at well beyond the million members he wanted to celebrate with Eduardo; he’s seen stories of people finding long-lost relatives over it, stories of couples coming together and coming apart, stories of how Facebook has completely revolutionized the way humanity functions.

Mark never dared to imagine where he is or where Facebook is; he’ll wonder later, when they’re reconnecting, if that was because Facebook’s future wasn’t something he wanted without Eduardo there at his side, CFO or not. Mark spends his days reliving his past instead; he’d requested the tapes from the depositions from his lawyers, and they had grudgingly obliged. 

On good days, Mark watches only the strange, brief moment of hope on Eduardo’s face when Mark reveals he didn’t tell his lawyers about the chicken. On bad days, he watches Eduardo talk about meeting Sean. 

On the very worst days, the days where missing Eduardo is like missing a limb, he watches Eduardo saying _“It wasn’t,”_ over and over and over. Those are the days Chris finds him sitting in the corner of his office, tucked into himself, silent and unable to so much as touch a computer.

The first year without Eduardo is the hardest. The second year is the saddest. The third is when Chris and Dustin decide they’ve had enough. Enough of Mark’s moping, enough of pretending they don’t keep tabs on Eduardo, enough of having to play mother and father to a grown ass man who is a fucking _billionaire._

They start with Eduardo, knowing he’s going to present the toughest challenge; he’s living in Singapore now for fuck knows why, and Chris takes a quick flight down there while Dustin keeps Mark occupied with a complex bug he planted in the servers that should leave Facebook down for several days.

When Chris arrives, Eduardo is nothing short of shocked to see such a familiar face waiting for him in his office; he and Chris have exchanged maybe ten emails since the depositions, mostly on holidays or birthdays, checking in to see how the other is doing. Neither of them have ever brought up Mark, but Eduardo can tell by Chris’s face that he’s about to now; part of him is grateful he had the balls to do it in person, but the rest of him is unsure if he’s ready to have this conversation at all.

In the end, it only takes a few hours of arguing before Chris is drawing up the paperwork Eduardo needs to close up shop indefinitely, and Eduardo is at home packing up all of his things. They leave less than 24 hours later on a plane bound for Palo Alto, and Eduardo tries to figure out just when he forgave Mark.

Chris calls Dustin from SFO when they land and tells him to help Mark fix the bug already so they can get started. Eduardo looks at him questioningly and Chris just shakes his head, tucking him into a rental car and telling him to head to the DMV to get a parking permit for the neighborhood they’ve got him a place in. Too jet-lagged to be suspicious, Eduardo does as he’s told, surprising himself by realizing he still knows the streets of Palo Alto like the palm of his hand.

He reaches the DMV and pulls out the paperwork Chris had handed him, and has a woman at one of the desks help him fill out the forms. As he’s leaving, he stops off in the bathroom to splash some water on his face in effort to shake the nerves, and accidentally leaves his permit behind the faucet of the sink. As he’s unlocking his car, he hears the voice that’s been ringing in his head for three years calling out, _“Wardo?”_

He turns sharply, and there, standing not five feet away from Eduardo, is Mark. He seems both taller and smaller than Eduardo remembers him, and he’s fiddling nervously with a paper. With a shock, Eduardo realizes it’s his permit, which means Mark had been in the bathroom at the same time as him. He shakes his head and laughs breathlessly; Chris is _good._ “Hey, Mark,” he says softly, hoping Mark won’t notice how his voice broke halfway through the greeting.

“You, um. You left your permit. In the bathroom.” Mark hesitantly starts forward, and relief seems to flood him when Eduardo doesn’t flinch back. He passes the permit over and Eduardo accepts it with a quiet murmur of thanks. Neither of them flinches or jolts when their fingers brush, but Eduardo notices Mark’s face seems to go soft around the edges. As he opens the door, Mark speaks again. “I noticed, um. We have the same RPP zone.”

Eduardo wonders for a brief moment if Mark is making up acronyms again to annoy him, and the smile that crosses his face is one of genuine fondness and sad reminiscence. “What’s an RPP zone?”

Mark scowls at him without any real heat. “I’m not making up acronyms again, Wardo,” he says, as though reading Eduardo’s mind. “It’s your residential permit parking zone. We have the same one. So. I guess, um. Chris found you a place near mine?”

Eduardo laughs again, a real laugh, his whole body going slack and his head thrown back. “He doesn’t do things halfway, does he, our Chris?”

Mark _does_ jolt at that, at Eduardo calling Chris _theirs,_ and Eduardo kindly doesn’t call him on it. “Um. You’re probably really jet-lagged right now, if I remember correctly how you are after flying. But. If you wanted to talk I thought maybe we could go to this coffee shop near the offices? I’d like to show you the office if you want, I mean it’s yours too and you haven’t seen it because you haven’t been to any of the shareholders meetings, but if you wanted to, I mean. We could. If you want.”

Eduardo wants to hate himself for the overwhelming feeling of _‘yes, yes, yes, home, I am here and you are home,’_ that floods him at Mark’s quick speech; he manages a genuine smile, one so wide his cheeks hurt, and nods at Mark. “Tell Chris to give you my number. Call me in a few hours. I need to nap and shower. But, sure. Let’s get coffee. Let’s...let’s talk.”

He climbs into his car, and as he’s about to pull away, he rolls down the window. “It’s good to see you, Mark,” he says. He drives away before he slips and says _‘You have no idea how much I have missed you,’_ and watches in the rearview as Mark waves goodbye. With a small chuckle and a smile that’s more smirk, he realizes belatedly that Chris Hughes, for all the times he’s pissed Eduardo off, has never _once_ led him astray.

* * *

Chris hangs up without another word, and he and Dustin enter the room before even a minute has passed. Mark still hasn't moved from the chair at Eduardo's left side, his hands still gripping Eduardo's tightly, his fingers worrying over the silver band on his finger. He looks up at them and wonders how much of his terror and despair read on his face, because even Dustin -- happy-go-lucky, optimistic at all times, _Dustin_ \-- goes a little white and seems to crumple in on himself. 

Mark doesn't bother protesting any physical affection because, for the first time since the lawsuits, he feels like he needs someone to hug him, as though the act of someone closing their arms around him will hold him together where he feels like his seams are ripping apart. 

Dustin makes it to him first and hugs him so tightly that Mark can barely breathe; he wasn't doing much of that anyway, waiting for Eduardo to wake up, so it's not much of a change. But he can hear Dustin's breathing, can feel his heartbeat, and he knows that he's not the only one who's terrified.

Dustin eventually lets go of him, and Chris makes his way to Mark's side, setting down some clothes and a laptop on the foot of the bed. His hug is warm, firm, and brief, but with no less love or comfort than Dustin's. "I brought you some clean clothes and your laptop. I grabbed one of Eduardo's hoodies because you always wear those when you're upset, but everything else is from your closet. Go clean up a little, we'll stay with him."

"I can't leave him," Mark protests.

Dustin smiles at him, though it doesn't fully reach his eyes. "What, afraid that if he wakes up and I'm the first one he sees he'll leave you for me? It's bound to happen sooner or later, Marky, my animal magnetism is undeniable."

Chris smacks Dustin half-heartedly, and looks firmly at Mark. "Go change. There's literally a bathroom in this room, Mark. Leave the door open if you have to, but you have got to get out of those clothes."

Mark does as he's told, and changes quickly; when he reemerges from the bathroom, Dustin and Chris have taken post at Eduardo's right side. Chris has one hand on his phone, his free one absently stroking Eduardo's hand; Dustin is positioned at the foot of the bed, his feet tucked under the blanket, pressed against Eduardo's. Mark resumes his vigil to the left, and they fall into a tense silence; Dustin gets up after an hour passes and grabs coffees and snacks from the vending machines. Mark can't bring himself to eat, but he gratefully accepts the coffee. Chris frowns at him, but for what is probably the first time in their friendship, he doesn't encourage Mark to eat. He simply lets him be; Mark can't find the proper word to describe how grateful he is for this.

* * *

Mark calls Eduardo four hours after the DMV, and his heart flips at the sound of a sleep-addled Eduardo mumbling, “Mark?”

He holds the phone away from his face as he takes a shaky breath; “Hey, Wardo. I hope I didn’t wake you too soon. It’s,” he glances at the corner of his laptop. “It’s 5 o’clock now; I’m at the office and can meet you at the cafe if you still want to go?” He hates the hesitancy in his voice, hopes Eduardo doesn’t catch it.

There’s some snuffling and rustling blankets on the other end of the phone before Eduardo hums his affirmation. “Yeah, yeah, give me like, twenty minutes? I’m gonna hop in the shower. Text me the address, yeah?”

Mark nods before he realizes Eduardo can’t see him. “Okay. See you soon, Wardo.” He hangs up and texts the address right away. As soon as his phone notifies him Eduardo has read the message, he puts his phone down and pulls up the Facebook masthead, smiling for the first time in a long time at his name just above Eduardo’s, both of them with the title “Co-Founder.” He holds no illusions about what talking with Eduardo may turn out to be, but he can’t deny the small seed of hope taking root in his heart.

He never believed in second chances before, because nobody ever gave him one; with a smile, he realizes Eduardo is the first, and it’s not the only first he’s been in Mark’s life. Mark allows himself a brief moment to hope this won’t be their last first.

* * *

Two more hours pass with no change in Eduardo’s condition, and Dustin falls asleep where he sits. Chris is still working on what to release as a statement, as it has now become apparent to the world that Mark Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin entered the hospital nearly a full day ago and have yet to emerge; there is speculation as to the condition of both, but Chris feels uneasy offering anything before they know that Eduardo is going to be okay.

Eduardo's parents arrive a short while later, and while there is a palpable discomfort at having to occupy the same space as Mark, they seem to be genuinely concerned for their son. Mrs. Saverin, who approved of Mark and Eduardo's marriage only marginally more than her husband, hugs Mark briefly; he is too stunned by the action to have any sort of response, and the hug is over before his brain begins to function again. Mr. Saverin keeps his distance, standing somewhere between Chris and Dustin, with the full width of Eduardo's bed between them, a sour look on his face every time he seems to remember Mark is there.

The doctor keeps passing through to check on Eduardo, but nothing has yet changed; on the sixth go-round, the doctor weans the paralytic again, and Eduardo finally begins to stir. Slowly, gratingly, blearily, his eyes open. He glances around the room in confusion, shrinking slightly at the sight of his father, frowning at Mark, Dustin, and Chris. His mother hands him a cup of water, which he accepts gratefully, and he sips before he speaks.

"What happened?"

He starts slightly when Mark is the one to speak, but Mark doesn't notice; Chris inhales sharply, worried. "We were in an accident, Wardo. Stupid fucking black ice. You've been out for a while, but the doctor said your injuries weren't as bad as they could've been..."

Eduardo blinks and slowly pulls his hand away from Mark's. "Why was I in a car with you?" he asks, his voice only slightly unkind; most of the color to his tone is confusion, and a hint of hysteria.

Mark flinches and frowns, glancing at Chris for help.

"Eduardo," Chris says softly, "What is your current relationship with Mark?"

Eduardo looks at Chris like he's got three heads; "I'm suing him to put my name back on the Facebook masthead," he says, voice going up at the end like he’s asking a question.

Mark feels as though the floor has dropped out from under him, as though he’s falling, falling, falling. He hears Dustin whisper _“Amnesia?”_ The word echoes as Mark’s vision begins to tunnel, and the world goes dark around him.

* * *

Mark gets to the coffee shop five minutes early and scopes out a good table in the back; he may or may not tip the barista to section off the surrounding tables so he and Eduardo can have privacy. It’s Palo Alto, and it’s not exactly rare to see a corporate ‘bigwig’ out and about, but he knows people know their story, and he would prefer at least a modicum of privacy. 

He orders a black coffee for himself, and what the cashier assures him is the sweetest hot drink on the menu for Eduardo, hoping his tastes haven’t changed. He tries to sit down and calmly wait, but his nerves get the better of him and he’s pacing around the table when Eduardo enters. He turns at the sound of a soft, familiar laugh, and sees Eduardo watching him with unbridled fondness.

Mark never in a million years thought he would see that look directed his way again; the memory of hurt, betrayed eyes, and pure, cold bitterness is too fresh a wound. Without thinking, he shrugs, and gestures at the drinks on the table. Eduardo shakes his head, still smiling, and sits across from Mark.

“So,” Eduardo says, reaching for his drink and taking a sip. Shock flits across his face momentarily, and is quickly replaced by something akin to joy. “How are you, Mark?”

Mark is taken aback by the simplicity of the question, unsure if this is all some elaborate prank, or worse -- a dream. “I’m fine, Wardo. But that’s not…. that’s beside the… I wanted to….” He trails off and looks down to see his hands shaking. He takes a quiet breath and looks back up, where Eduardo watches him warily. “I’m sorry. For cutting you out of Facebook like that and for making you feel like you were less important or like you were only worth the money you were willing to put into the account. You’re not…you were…I’m not good at this, okay? There’s a reason Chris writes all of my speeches for me before I get up on stage. I’m just… I’m sorry, Wardo. I know that’s probably not enough, and there’s nothing that will be enough but I’m sorry anyway.”

Eduardo struggles to not laugh when Mark immediately looks down at the end of his ramble, and settles instead on taking another sip of his coffee. “It is,” he says simply.

Mark looks up sharply. “What?”

Eduardo mimics one of Mark’s shrugs, a small grin on his face. “It’s enough, Mark. All I ever wanted to hear from you was that you didn’t mean it. That you were sorry it happened or that I was more than a bank statement. Because you were more than Facebook to me. I didn’t care about Facebook because of what it had the potential to be. I didn’t care about the money the site could generate. I didn’t even really care about what my father would think when he saw my name on the masthead. All I cared about was what _you_ had the potential to be. I just wanted to be a part of you realizing how great you could be.”

Mark stares at Eduardo blankly, before letting out a mildly bitter laugh. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he says derisively. “I’ve spent three years thinking I fucked everything up beyond repair and all it took was listening to Dustin Moskovitz just one more fucking time.”

He laughs again, and Eduardo joins him this time, and both of their hearts beat more quickly, overjoyed at the sound of their laughter mingling again; there is a feeling of _rightness_ restored to their world, as though they’re finally seeing in color again, as though there was a missing piece and this was it. Laughter shared between two old friends, between two souls yearning to be something more; it was the first laugh they shared in _years,_ and it was the best one they shared _ever._

* * *

Mark comes to a few moments later, and he notices with panic that he’s not in Eduardo’s room anymore. Dustin looks at him apologetically, and says, softly, “He asked us if we could take you out for a minute so he could catch his breath. He thinks it’s still the day before he’s supposed to be presented with the settlement, so he still….”

“He still hates me,” Mark whispers, sinking to the floor against the wall.

Dustin sits next to him and puts an arm around him, pulling him close. “I’m gonna be honest, Mark, I know fuck-all about amnesia outside of like, Grey’s Anatomy. But there’s always the potential he’ll regain his memory, right? The brain is weird as shit, man, like, remember when I realized that humans named our organs by using our brains meaning our brains named themselves? There’s almost nothing brains can’t do. Wardo will figure it out. And if he doesn’t, we’ll help him relearn loving you.”

Mark will deny it later, but in the moment, he’s one hundred percent grateful Dustin followed him to Palo Alto that summer, and even more grateful that he stuck around after.

* * *

Going to the coffee shop becomes their thing, at least once a week. It’s a month before Mark mentions Facebook, having been careful not to before then; it slips out and when it does, he freezes, flinches, worries that Eduardo will take back accepting the apology. Before he can apologize, Eduardo waves a hand.

“I’m surprised you lasted this long without mentioning it,” he notes, interestedly, pulling out his phone. “Though, thanks. I just won the bet. Dustin owes me $50 and Chris has to go to work in _sweatpants.”_

Mark stares blankly -- most of their time is spent with Mark just staring openly at Eduardo, though neither of them ever mentions it. “You guys bet on how long it would take me to bring up Facebook after apologizing?”

“Only because after the third time meeting you here I realized you were straining yourself to refrain from doing so,” Eduardo says, taking a bite of the cookie he got with his coffee. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, mouth full. “This is amazing, have you ever had these before?”

Mark doesn’t have a chance to say that he’d honestly never sat in the shop before as Eduardo is shoving the cookie at his mouth, forcing him to take a bite. His eyes widen marginally, and he nods as Eduardo laughs quietly. “Holy shit, who knew a cookie would be so life-affirming?” he asks after chewing it enough to not spew crumbs everywhere.

Eduardo grins and dashes to the register where he grabs a few more. “One for you, but you should take the other two to Chris and Dustin. They’ll need cheering up after losing the bet.”

With the issue of withholding from mentioning Facebook out of the way, they fall into their old pattern of Mark dominating the conversation, talking a mile a minute and pausing only when Eduardo interrupts or laughs. When they exit the shop and make to part ways, Eduardo surprises Mark again by pulling him in for a hug.

Mark isn’t sure if he imagines it or not, but he swears he feels Eduardo press his lips to his hair quickly before pulling away with a smile and heading up the street away from the Facebook offices.

* * *

“I have a theory,” Dustin begins, shifting his arm slightly but making no move to get up off the floor. Mark turns to frown at him, and he continues. “I have a theory about why you and Eduardo can never seem to stay away from each other, and why he’s absolutely going to come back to you. I think you guys are like, soulmates. Like, honest to god soulmates.” 

He goes quiet for a moment, as though he can hear Mark’s unspoken judgment. “Okay, maybe not soulmates. But I do think part of my theory stands. I think you guys are so tuned into each other that he’ll always come back to you. Somehow.”

Mark doesn’t say anything, just dips his head so it bumps against Dustin’s shoulder. He’s got a theory too. Mark’s theory is about moments. Moments of impact. His theory is that these moments of impact, these flashes of high intensity that completely turn lives upside down, actually end up defining who we are. 

That each one of us is the sum total of every moment that we've ever experienced, with all the people we've ever known. And it's these moments that become our history. Like our own personal greatest hits of memories that we play and replay in our minds over and over again. 

That’s his theory. That these moments of impact define who we are. But what Mark never considered was what if, one day, you could no longer remember any of them?

* * *

The first time Eduardo kisses Mark, they’re in Chicago, visiting Chris at his brief new job working the online campaign for then-presidential hopeful Barack Obama. It’s snowing, and Mark is sick with one of the worst colds of his life. Eduardo parted ways with him at the airport, having to run to a quick meeting with a potential investor for one of the new startups he’s advising, and he finds Mark later at a cafe near Obama’s headquarters, huddled in the corner with a cup of hot tea. Eduardo isn’t due to meet him for another hour, so, with what he claims is a stroke of genius, he runs up the street to the Walgreens on the corner.

He grabs a gift-box, a box of tissues, some Tylenol, some cough drops, a Sharpie, and a pad of sticky notes. He puts little notes on each item, and then pulls a wrinkled picture from his wallet, adds a note to it as well, and sticks it in the bottom of the box before piling the other items on top. After it’s all assembled, he knocks on the door to the cafe located in the alleyway, and pays one of the baristas to drop the box at Mark’s table as he dashes back around to the front of the store to watch him open it through the window.

Mark frowns at the box for a moment, confused, before opening the lid slowly. The first thing he pulls out is the box of tissues, a sticky note stuck to them with Eduardo’s writing scrawled on it. _For your nose,_ it reads. A look of wonder crosses Mark’s face, and he digs deeper into the box. Next is the Tylenol, which reads, _for your head._ After that is the bag of cough drops, reading, _for your throat._ And at the very bottom of the box, careworn and creased with a distinct fold down the middle as if it’s been opened and closed a hundred times, is a photo of the two of them from a party at AEPi just weeks before Mark was approached by the Winklevoss twins; a sticky note is attached to this as well, and reads, _for your heart._

Mark will insist he absolutely did _not_ cry, but Eduardo swears that when Mark looked up from the table and glanced around, and finally made eye contact through the window, his eyes were shining. Without a moment’s hesitation, Mark is getting up and going outside and Eduardo is pulling him close.

“Wardo,” Mark mumbles into Eduardo’s shoulder. “I…it’s snowing. We should…why did you--”

Eduardo shushes Mark, and tilts Mark’s head up toward his, eyes searching for any hint he should pull back. When he finds none, he smiles, and says, “Shut up for once in your life, Mark.” He closes the distance and presses their mouths together softly. They part after a moment, and Eduardo sighs happily, his forehead against Mark’s, eyes closed, a smile playing on his lips. Mark grips Eduardo’s arms tightly, and Eduardo’s hands stay cradling Mark’s face.

* * *

A moment of total physical, mental, and every other kind of love; a moment of impact.


	2. Chapter 2

About ten minutes after they’ve finally gotten comfortable on the floor in the hallway, Chris and Eduardo’s parents exit the room. Mr. Saverin stalks off toward the cafeteria, while Mrs. Saverin hesitates, looking sadly at Mark. She opens her mouth like she has something to say, but shuts it immediately and hurries after her husband.

Chris plops down across from them and stretches his leg out to kick at Mark. “I filled in as much as I could, Mark. But right now, he just can’t believe you guys would ever make it past the dilution to being married. We’ll have to give him time. That’s all it took before.”

“Would he get angry if I went back in there?” Mark asks quietly.

“Probably,” Chris says honestly. “But he can’t stop you. You’re his husband, next of kin, medical proxy. Legally, he can’t keep you out.”

Mark smiles grimly. “Don’t tell him that, he’ll hate me even more. Another contract he’ll see as having unwittingly signed, another corner backed into that he didn’t know he’d ever be in.” Still, he stands, dusts himself off, and pulls the door open, letting it shut behind him. Chris and Dustin exchange a look before standing up simultaneously and heading for the cafeteria to keep an eye on the Saverins.

“Wardo?” Mark calls out hesitantly. “Can we talk?”

Eduardo is laying on his side with his back to the door, to Mark; his shoulders hunch, and Mark is alarmed to note they’re quivering. “What do we have to talk about, Mark?”

“The ring on your finger,” Mark says softly. He sees Eduardo move his hand slightly, as though he hadn’t quite looked at it before. “The ring on your finger. There’s an inscription inside the band.”

Eduardo takes off the ring, and reads the inscription slowly, carefully, as though he doesn’t trust his eyes right now. “The Kirkland algorithm.”

“The Kirkland algorithm,” Mark echoes. “If things between us had stayed how they were in the depositions, do you really think I would have or could have inscribed that on a ring you would be wearing for the rest of your life? We both fucked up a lot of things in a lot of ways, Wardo, but you have to...you _have_ to give me a chance.”

Mark can tell immediately that he said the wrong thing, and before he can take it back, Eduardo is finally looking at him, nothing but contempt on his face. “I don’t have to give you anything, Mark. I don’t care that Chris says it’s been years since the dilution, I don’t care that we’re apparently married. I have to... I have to go. I have to go back to New York. Or Miami. Or...anywhere. I can’t be in Palo Alto, I can’t be married to you, I can’t... I don’t know anything about who I am anymore because everything Chris is telling me is wrong. It’s not me. It can’t be me.”

His hand is extended toward Mark’s and for a split-second, Mark thinks he’s reaching for him. Belatedly, he realizes Eduardo is handing the ring to him. “No,” he chokes. “That’s yours. I don’t. Please don’t give that back.”

Before Eduardo can protest, Mark runs from the room, runs down the hall, runs out the door. It’s hailing, and each piece of ice that pelts him reminds him that this is real, that Eduardo doesn’t remember him, that his life is falling apart. Chris and Dustin find him a few minutes later, soaked to the bone and shaking. They don’t need to ask what happened, and they don’t tell him to come inside; they take post on either side of him, and just sit in silence.

* * *

As Mark and Eduardo re-learn each other, they find an almost infinite list of things that have changed in the three years since the deposition. Eduardo was shocked when Mark was so open with his apology, but he never imagined it meant Mark was more open in general; the first time he sees it, he’s dropping lunch for Mark at the office. He’s finally at a point where he can walk into the Facebook offices and not want to break every computer in sight, and Dustin is probably the most pleased by this. His reactions are always over the top when Eduardo comes by, and today he asks when Eduardo is going to just give in and move in with Mark.

Expecting Mark to shut down the way he always used to, or to storm off, or make a biting remark about Dustin’s lack of a love life, Eduardo finds himself bracing against the disappointment he might feel knowing Mark doesn’t see them doing that. Instead, he’s nearly floored, when Mark shrugs and says, “Whenever he wants.”

It takes Eduardo a moment, but he finally finds his voice. “What?”

Mark shrugs again, smiling this time, and grabbing the food from Eduardo’s limp hands. “Move in with me. There’s no point in you constantly sleeping over and then going back to your place. Plus, I live closer to both of our offices. And I’d rather come home with you already there than have to text you that I’m leaving the office, meet me in five or whatever.” He turns and heads back into his office, popping open the container of food as he tucks back into whatever he was coding.

Eduardo looks at Dustin, whose face resembles something like a goldfish with the way his mouth keeps opening and closing. Simultaneously, they let out a laugh and whisper, “What the fuck?”

“Who was that and what did he do with Mark Zuckerberg?” a voice asks from behind them.

Eduardo turns and sees Sean Parker standing in the doorway, a mixture of trepidation and amusement on his face. “Sean,” he says as a way of greeting.

“Saverin. I heard you were back.”

Eduardo smiles inwardly at the fact that Sean is keeping his distance; the memory of lifting his fist and seeing Sean flinch is one of the better ones from that horrible day. “Yep,” he says cheerfully. “And unfortunately for you, it looks like I’ll be sticking around for a while.” He turns to Dustin, who has started gaping again, and asks, “Wanna get out of here and help me move my shit to Mark’s?”

Dustin’s answering grin is blinding. “Hell yes, Wardo.”

They pass Sean as they exit, and Eduardo cackles when Sean hastily backs out of their way. “See you around, Parker.”

* * *

Chris runs to his car where he’s got a bunch of Mark’s dry clothes in the trunk from various times when he knew Mark would need them; he grabs all of them and stuffs them in a bag, and shoves Mark and Dustin back inside the hospital. Mark looks like he’s going to protest, until Chris says, “Shut up, idiot, your teeth are chattering and if you get sick who’s gonna take care of Wardo?”

Mark clams up instantly, and they shuffle into the bathroom just to the side of the check-in desk at radiology, Chris doling out dry pairs of sweats and hoodies. They change quickly and head back up to Eduardo’s room, each of them relaxing slightly when they enter and see the Saverins aren’t there. Eduardo is sitting up in his bed, staring down at his hands where he’s turning his wedding band over, seemingly on some sort of mechanical loop. He looks up when they enter, and his face looks apologetic; Mark feels like something in him dies at the sight of it. He hasn’t seen this particular expression since Eduardo told Mark he’d been punched by the Phoenix.

“I’m sorry --” Eduardo starts.

“I shouldn’t have --” Mark blurts simultaneously.

Dustin looks between the two and laughs. “Well. Apparently no matter what year it is in Eduardo’s head or in reality, you two are always gonna be _that_ kind of couple.”

Chris smacks Dustin on the back of his head and Eduardo lets out a laugh that seems to catch him by surprise. Encouraged, Mark laughs too, and soon they’re all in a fit of hysterical giggles. As they catch their breath, Eduardo looks hesitantly at Mark.

“I, um. You left my phone on the side table so I picked it up and opened my voicemail. There’s only two from you that are saved.” Ears turning red, he returns his gaze to the ring in his hands. “One of them is from right after the depositions that made me want to just throw the phone out of the window, but the one after that I guess is from when I came back here? You said something about cookies and winning a bet, which I don’t understand at all. But, I dunno, the way you sounded…I’m curious. About everything, honestly. But especially about the bet? I could hear Dustin cackling in the background, and Chris whining about looking professional or something.”

Dustin grins and whips out his phone; “I TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT THAT!” he all but screams.

“Indoor voice, Moskovitz,” Chris admonishes.

Dustin passes Eduardo his phone, displaying a picture of Chris at his desk wearing sweats, flip flops, and a hoodie. If Dustin weren’t currently spouting the story of the bet and why Chris looked like that, Eduardo would’ve guessed he had dressed as Mark for Halloween.

Mark is staring resolutely at a point somewhere near Eduardo’s feet, and so he misses when Eduardo slips the ring back on his finger. He looks up though, when Eduardo addresses him.

“Maybe...Mark would it be too much to ask if…”

“Nothing is too much to ask, Wardo,” Mark says quickly. “I made a lot of mistakes a long time ago and I won’t do that again. I won’t be the reason for you hurting again. Whatever. Whatever you want to do, I’ll find a way to be okay with it.”

Eduardo had never been very good at hiding his emotions, and so the shock on his face seems to extend to the air in the room, more than palpable. “I was going to ask if it would be okay if I…took some time to think about coming home? I just think maybe. Maybe it would be a good idea? I don’t, uh. I don’t love you right now. I don’t even think I like you. But I googled amnesia and my best chance might be if I try staying with you. I’d obviously like to get the doctor’s opinion first, and my parents are going to have input whether I want it or not but…I just thought I’d ask if it was okay to consider.”

Mark nods quickly, and Dustin nudges Chris excitedly. “Of course. Yeah, if you decide to come home and you want to take it easy, you can set up in one of the guest rooms or I can or whatever, we can figure it out later. Wardo, no matter what happens or what you choose, I just need you to know that I care about you more than anything.”

Eduardo bites back a scoff, but his face shows his disbelief. “I’m still waiting for the doctor to come by, but the nurse said after she talks to us, I should be able to go home, unless there’s bad results from my MRIs. Are my parents still here?”

Chris answers, which Mark is grateful for; he’s struggling to tamp down his hope at Eduardo wanting to come home. “They’re in the cafeteria, whispering hurriedly in Portuguese. I’m a little rusty, but what I gathered is your father wants you to come home with them. Your mother thinks you deserve to retain your agency, and should be given a chance to remember your life before any decisions are made. She told me to talk you into thinking about staying with Mark if I could. I’m glad it didn’t come to that, because I can be very annoyingly persuasive.”

“Let me guess,” Eduardo says drily. “You’re the reason I came back to Palo Alto in the first place?” Chris nods, and Eduardo laughs breathlessly. “Of course; who else could’ve ever convinced me that Mark had changed?”

* * *

After Dustin helps Eduardo move in with Mark, things become both easier and more difficult. They’ve put the depositions behind them, and that’s good. That’s great, as far as Mark is concerned; he’s got Eduardo’s looks of betrayal burned into his memory and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sound of his voice breaking over the words _‘It wasn’t.’_ But just because the depositions have been let go by both of them doesn’t mean they don’t fight.

Sometimes it’s over something stupid. It’s that Mark left the fridge open in the middle of the night and all the food went bad, or Eduardo erased something off the whiteboard on the fridge without realizing it was a piece of code Mark needed. Other times, it’s over things equally stupid, but delves into something bigger, something more.

The first time it happens really big and really bad, they’re arguing over dinner. It was Mark’s night to cook, but he had an important bug to fix on the site so he told Eduardo to pick, telling him to _“Go through the menu book, pick someplace,”_ only to then say, _“Wait, I know, we’ll get Indian.”_ Eduardo doesn’t say anything, but when the food arrives, he doesn’t take a single bite of anything. Mark doesn’t notice for a whole five minutes, and only does because Eduardo is ending a phone call, standing, and putting on his coat.

“Where are you going? You haven’t even eaten yet,” he says, confused.

Eduardo laughs, the sound anything but humorous. “I haven’t eaten because I hate Indian food.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before I ordered?”

“I don’t know maybe I didn’t say anything because I was completely floored by the thought that you retain so little information about me in that massive brain of yours that you couldn’t even remember what I do and don’t like?”

Mark frowns and puts his fork down. “Are you sure we’ve talked about this before?”

“Mark,” Eduardo says, anger coloring his voice. “We’ve had _multiple_ at length discussions about how much I hate Indian food. We’ve had debates and conversations with Dustin and Chris about this. But, whatever, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You never listened to me before, why should you start now?” He turns his back on Mark, and grabs his keys, heading for the door.

Mark follows him into the entryway, and asks, “Are you seriously going to walk out because I fucked up dinner?”

Sharply and more off-balance than he anticipated, he whips around to stare at Mark confusedly. “Do you really not get that it’s not about the fucking _food,_ Mark?”

“Clearly I don’t, so please, explain it to me,” Mark says, folding his arms.

Anger bursts from Eduardo, and he’s shouting before he even realizes. “It’s about the fact that for the entire amount of time I’ve known you, you _never_ listen to me! About anything! You didn’t listen to me about Sean _fucking_ Parker, you didn’t listen to me about monetizing the site, and you don’t listen to me now! The rare moments you do listen it’s only so you can twist my words into something that suits you! You ask me to move in with you, you feed me some apology for the dilution, you say you like coming home to me, hell, Mark, I think you might even love me in your own way. But you never, _ever_ put any effort into actually knowing things about me!”

Mark’s face colors at that and he starts to interrupt, saying, “Wardo, I don’t --”

Eduardo cuts him off with a wave of his hand, the fight going out of him as quickly as it came, replaced now by the same fear and trepidation that used to be present in the way he would stare at Mark all those years ago. “Just. Mark, just let me go, okay? I’m just gonna go to Dustin’s for the night, crash on his couch. But….this is something you need to think about. If you want to stay with me, if you want _me_ to stay with _you_ …you have to put some effort in. Remember what foods I don’t like, or when my birthday is, or what side of the bed I prefer to sleep on; it doesn’t have to be important, but it would be nice if you could remember _something_ about me other than my name.”

He laughs bitterly and Mark tries not to think about how many times he’s heard that laugh since Eduardo came back, tries to remember instead the sound Eduardo makes when the laughter is pure and genuine; he doesn’t have much of a chance, because Eduardo isn’t done talking. 

“I remember _everything_ about you, Mark. I know when it’s safe to interrupt you, I know when it’s important that I make you eat, I know when you need to sit alone in silence or when you need to talk at me like I’m a brick wall or when you need to be held. I know what your favorite food is, I know how you take your coffee, I know your mother’s maiden name and alma mater. I remember everything I ever discover about you because, _goddammit,_ I fucking love you. So, please. Just. Try and love me back.”

Eduardo literally has one foot out the door when Mark calls out, “I _do_ love you, Wardo.” He waits until Eduardo steps back inside the door-frame before continuing, speaking a mile a minute like he does when he’s keyed up or nervous or terrified of the outcome. “I’ve loved you since that stupid AEPi party when I first saw how bad you are at dancing. And okay, maybe I don’t remember your favorite and least favorite foods, but I know other things. I know why you wear suits everyday, even when we’re just sitting at home all day. I know why you flinch before answering calls from your mom. I know why your work is so important to you and why you wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. I know what it means to you to succeed at something unconventional and I know why it was so important to you to get your name back on the masthead.”

Eduardo looks like he’s about to interrupt, so Mark pushes on, staring somewhere past Eduardo, as though he can’t say what needs to be said and keep eye contact; “I know why you hate Palo Alto when it rains, and I know what you look like when your heart is broken and you’ve lost all your faith in me. I may not remember everything, Wardo, and I may not always listen, but I remember the important things, and I listen even when you think I don’t. And more than all of that I know I _never_ want you to look at me the way you did across that boardroom table ever again. I love you, I’ve loved you, I will continue to love you. I can’t make you stay, but I can ask you not to go.”

He stops, takes a breath, looks Eduardo directly in the eye, and quietly, pleadingly, says, “ _Please._ Please don’t fucking go, Wardo. Not again. _I need you here.”_

Eduardo sucks in an unsteady breath, and rushes forward, pushing Mark against the wall and kissing him, hard. The kiss is sloppy, possessive, bruising, and _everything._ When they pull away, their chests are heaving with the lack of air, and Eduardo brushes his thumb across Mark’s cheek before snaking his fingers through unruly curls. “I love you so much, you fucking idiot,” he whispers.

Mark clings to Eduardo, one hand at his neck, the other held fast to his lower back. “I love you, too, Wardo.” He presses his face into Eduardo’s neck, lips brushing against the pulse there as he whispers, repeatedly, _‘I love you, don’t leave me, I love you, I love you, I love you.’_

They stay like that until Dustin calls Eduardo asking if he’s still coming, and after he explains that he’s not and everything’s fine, Eduardo grabs Mark’s wrist and drags him to bed.

* * *

The doctors decide to keep Eduardo another night for observation, and at everyone’s insistence, Mark goes home to sleep; well, as close to going home as they can talk him into, which is to say he shares the couch at Dustin’s with Chris. They get him up early, make him eat breakfast, force him to take a shower, put on clean clothes, and together, they head back to the hospital where the doctor wants to meet with Mark and the Saverins.

When Mark enters the doctor’s office, he notices everyone else is already assembled; he checks his watch, alarmed, worrying he’s late. He’s not -- turns out Eduardo was never joking when he said it was tradition that the Saverins always be twenty minutes early to all events. Eduardo smiles hesitantly at him, the look on his face seemingly apologetic, as though he’s embarrassed by his family. _Some things never change,_ Mark thinks as he smiles back. The doctor seems encouraged by this, and begins.

“Mr. Zuckerberg, don’t worry, you’re right on time. I’m Doctor Page, we spoke briefly when Mr. Saverin was first admitted.” Mark nods at her and tries to not take comfort in the bitter looks that flit across the Saverins’ faces. “As you are all aware, Mr. Saverin seems to be suffering from a form of retrograde amnesia. We’ve run some MRIs and while the swelling has receded, hence his awakening, but I would really like to run a few more detailed tests, keep him just one more night, see if there are any changes. As of now, we’re proceeding with the amnesia as being at least semi-permanent, given the lack of change between last night and today.”

She turns to look directly at Eduardo, and her face softens almost imperceptibly. “Mr. Saverin --” she starts.

“Eduardo, please,” he says with a wave of his hand, not seeing the look of disdain on his father’s face at the lack of impropriety.

“Eduardo, then,” she says, smiling at him. “I’m very pleased by the fact that your long-term memory recall appears to be very much intact. That means that you’re not only retaining all of the memories prior to when you think it is, but also that any memory you make from here forward will be retained as well. Given your quick healing and the quick recession of the swelling, I am optimistic that there will be improvement with your other memories, as well, but I’m afraid only time will tell there.”

Eduardo nods, his face tight. “So, what’s the next step then, after you finish running tests and discharge me?”

“I’d like you to settle back into your old life, as best as you can.”

“He should come with us,” Mr. Saverin says.

“The doctor just said he should go back to his _old life,_ ” Mark interjects before he can stop himself. “Meaning before the crash. That’s his life with me, the one where he doesn’t talk to you anymore,” he adds angrily.

“He doesn’t remember anything but hating you!” Mr. Saverin argues. “He needs to be with his family!”

“I _am_ his family. I have two rings and a certificate from the state of California to prove it!”

“I notice none of you are asking _me_ what I think I need,” Eduardo says quietly. Everyone turns to look at him, and he’s staring firmly at his doctor. “If I understand correctly, Mark is my best option. If I want to remember what happened in the last several years, I should give him a chance, right?”

Doctor Page nods. “If you go home, you recede into the mindset you woke up in -- you’ll carry on as if it’s the middle of the depositions, feeding the seed that Mark Zuckerberg is the person you hate most in this world. You may never remember your life as it is now.” She pauses, and leans forward, flattening her hands on the desk. “But if you go home with him, and at least open yourself up to the idea of having worked past it so fully, then your brain is likely to reward this openness by letting your memories ease back through.”

Eduardo sits back in his chair and drags a hand through his hair. “This is a lot to take in, and a big decision. I have thought about it some already but…” He looks around at his parents’ stern looks, and winds up focused on the sad, barely hopeful look Mark is wearing. “I dunno. Is there any sort of…I mean I trust Chris. He wouldn’t tell me I’m married to you if it was a lie. But is there any sort of proof? Aside from documents. Like, I dunno. A video of the wedding? A voicemail you have saved? Not just for my comfort, but maybe… _Pai,_ maybe you would be easier on him if you knew he was telling the truth,” he says, glancing at his father before staring beseechingly at Mark.

Mark frowns for a moment before pulling out his phone. “It would take a while to find our wedding video, but…I have a voicemail. From the day before. You planned the whole thing and we all just went along with it because I didn’t care about any details other than you marrying me, and one of your conditions was we be separated the night before. So you went with Dustin and I went with Chris because we thought you would be less easily suggestible to Dustin’s schemes.” Mark smiles and shrugs. “We were wrong.”

He pushes play on the voicemail, puts it on speaker, and waits while Eduardo listens. _“Heyyyyyyyyy baby. I hope Chris is making you be good and keeping you from panicking, I will kill you if you get cold feet tomorrow. Dustin says stop being stupid, that we’re not gonna get arrested for having an illegal wedding at the Getty, and that you’re a billionaire who can pay for a remodel if they try to get us anyway. Oh! Also, don’t forget your vows. Because mine are preeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetty amazing. I’m pretty sure there’s a rhyme in here about your ass, but I can’t read my writing right now and I don’t want to spoil you either. Oh, wait. This one’s Dustin’s writing. Fuck wait where are my vows then? Oh, no that’s right, Chris stuck them in my pocket earlier so I wouldn’t ruin them. Okay, well Dustin found more tequila so I’m gonna go drink now. I love you, I can’t wait to marry you, sleep well!”_

The voicemail ends and Eduardo is staring at Mark, eyes piercing, as though he’s trying to decide if the message was some sort of trick or manipulation. Mark’s returning gaze is intense, overwhelmingly full of love, and Eduardo realizes he made his decision the second he heard his own voice saying the words _hey baby_.

He takes a deep breath, looks at his parents, and says, “I’d like to go home with Mark.”


	3. Chapter 3

After their first really explosive fight, Eduardo is shocked to find that Mark is making a concentrated effort to talk about things instead of just acting on impulse; they don’t stop fighting, they just make up sooner than they had before. Things are really great for a long time, and even when they fight, they have an advantage they didn’t have when they first fought over Facebook -- they’re both fully aware of how the other feels. Before, Eduardo felt alone in loving Mark; he never anticipated that Mark would love him back, let alone as deeply, as intensely, as irrevocably. Mark, on the other hand, had never thought Eduardo would love him at all.

This comes up a year after they start dating, one of the times when Chris visits and they all go to Dustin’s to drink and catch up; the revelation winds up resulting in a dead silence followed by Dustin and Chris collapsing on each other, tears streaming down their face as they howl with laughter. Miraculously, Dustin is the first to collect himself enough to speak: “You guys seriously, _seriously_ had no idea that you were both pining for each other?”

Mark and Eduardo look at each other slowly before turning to look back at Dustin, shaking their heads in unison; Chris has drunkenly wobbled away to try to stop laughing, because, as he whispers to Dustin, _“I can’t stop laughing if I’m looking at them, fuck, they’re so clueless, how are they alive?”_

Dustin shakes his head and wags his beer at them sagely, “And that, my friends, is why I hope whichever one of you is going to propose to the other comes to us first. Without us, you’ll fuck everything up again.”

“Whoa, proposes?” Eduardo interjects.

“Okay, fine, let’s do lunch on Thursday,” Mark says at the same time.

Everyone freezes except Mark, who continues taking sips from his beer, not even noticing the change in the room. Eduardo turns sharply to look at him, asking, “What do you mean by that, Mark?”

Mark lowers his beer, turns to Eduardo, and starts speaking slowly and carefully. “He said if one of us was planning to propose, we should talk to them first. I said let’s do lunch on Thursday. It’s pretty obvious, I think.”

“Guys, can you give us the room?” Eduardo asks softly.

Dustin and Chris head into the kitchen, not even bothering to pretend they aren’t eavesdropping. Eduardo shakes his head fondly at them and turns back to Mark.

“You’re planning on proposing?”

Mark frowns at Eduardo. “Should I not be? I thought we’ve been doing pretty well, and I don’t ever want you to leave again. Plus, it’s legal here now, and I figured, why not? I mean, it’s just a piece of paper that tells the state everything we already know we feel about each other, and --”

Eduardo cuts Mark off by half-climbing into his lap and kissing him silly; he pulls away, face tinted pink, and breathes out, “You don’t have to do a grand proposal, Mark. Just…ask me now.”

Mark hesitates before smiling at Eduardo wider than he ever has before. “Wardo, will you marry me?”

“Yes, Mark. I’ll marry you.” They resume kissing, Eduardo shamelessly tangling his hands in Mark’s curls, pulling at them desperately; they give in to each other fully, alternating in whining whenever they come up for air despite the fact that Dustin and Chris are rushing back into the room, cheering and directing a spray of champagne at them. Even after they stop, Eduardo stays perched where he is, and Dustin and Chris don’t have the heart to tease them.

They get married two months later, in the middle of the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, standing in front of Van Gogh’s _Irises_ ; it was Eduardo’s idea, even though Mark kept reminding him it’s illegal to do so without special permits and rentals. He’s more than willing to go through the right channels, certain his name will speed up the process, but Eduardo insists it’ll be way more fun if they do it the illegal way, so that’s how they end up standing, overdressed in their tuxedos, pretending they’re admiring the painting.

Chris officiates and Dustin serves as dual best man for them, as well as camera operator since Mark’s mom would kill them if she didn’t get to see the wedding somehow; they don’t risk inviting anyone else because they don’t want to be caught before they finish, and because it means so much more having it just be the four of them.

“Okay, guys, let’s get through this as quickly as possible,” Chris says. “We are gathered here today, the Facebook Four, to witness the union of Mark Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin for all time. If there are any present who object, may they speak now.”

They look around in jest, and Dustin mimes that he’s going to interrupt before laughing and waving Chris on. “I believe you have both written your own vows? Which is great, because I honestly didn’t memorize jack shit for this.”

Dustin laughs again, this time joined by Mark and Eduardo; Eduardo pulls his vows out first, sloppily written on a menu from the cafe he and Mark first sat down at when Chris dragged Eduardo back to California. He begins reading, his voice tremulous, the only indication that he’s on the verge of tears; his eyes, as he looks at Mark, are crystal clear, and full of love. “I vow to help you love life, to always hold you with tenderness, and to have the patience that love demands,” he pauses, slipping a silver band onto Mark’s finger. “To speak when words are needed and to share the silence when they're not. To agree to disagree on Indian food. And to live within the warmth of your heart and always call it home.”

Dustin, Mark, and Chris are all staring at Eduardo, more than a little breathless; Eduardo flushes under the scrutiny, and shrugs half-heartedly. Dustin claps Mark on the shoulder consolingly, and they all choke out a laugh when Mark pulls out an identical menu.

“Did you write your vows on a menu from the same place as Wardo?” Chris asks incredulously.

Mark nods, and starts to read his vows; “I vow to fiercely love you in all your forms, now and forever. I promise to never forget that this is a once-in-a-lifetime love.” He stuffs the menu under his arm as he reaches for Eduardo’s hand, sliding a matching silver band onto his finger, while continuing his vows from memory. “And to always know in the deepest part of my soul, no matter what challenges might carry us apart, that we'll always find the way back to each other.”

Dustin gapes at Mark, and Chris stumbles to find his next required words. “By the power vested in me by the great state of California --”

“Shit, security!” Dustin interjects quickly.

“I now pronounce you husbands and best friends for life. Kiss! Run!” Chris says, darting out the rear exit of the room they’re in. Mark and Eduardo briefly kiss, link hands and follow, Dustin quick on their heels. They dash through the museum, darting around crowds and security, careful not to knock any of the artworks; eventually, they make it outside and the guards have given up trying to catch them. They all meet up under a large tree, and fall into a group hug. Out of breath and flush with adrenaline, Mark pulls his husband away from the group hug and kisses him again and again and again. Dustin and Chris fall to the grass beneath the tree, leaning against each other and watching their friends fondly.

After they stop kissing, Eduardo grins at the whole group; “Best wedding ever, or what?”

* * *

The Saverins decide to stay in a hotel near Mark’s home, just in case Eduardo changes his mind; Mark wants to protest, but he can see the wonder in Eduardo’s face, amazed that his parents are displaying so much care for him willingly. So Mark says nothing, and directs them to the best one in the area. He even manages to refrain from offering to pay for their stay, knowing full well that Mr. Saverin will be too proud to accept such an offer. All of the discharge paperwork is already filled out so Mark goes to collect the remainder of Eduardo’s personal effects from the nurses station as Eduardo changes into the clean clothes Chris has dropped off, and they climb into Mark’s car in an awkward silence. 

The drive is quick, and Eduardo’s face forms a mask of confusion when he sees their destination; it’s a small, simple looking house with a long driveway, far from the sprawling expanse he’d bitterly envisioned Mark living in. He has to shake his head, remind himself that this probably isn’t the same Mark he thinks he knows; it’s difficult, separating the two. More difficult is reconciling them, figuring out how the Mark that had cut him from Facebook seemingly without a second thought can be the same Mark in the car with him, fretting over his comfort and living in an unassuming home despite his vast fortunes.

As soon as the car is parked and shut off, Mark jumps out and hurries over to Eduardo’s door, opening it and offering a hand. Eduardo is stunned and more than grateful. While his doctor has deemed him fit to go home, he’s still sore all over; he supposes that’s what happens when you’re ejected from a car through the windshield. He allows Mark to take his arm and guide him up the front walk, leaning gratefully into the supporting pressure. The silence is less awkward than in the car, and reminds Eduardo of the time he’d gotten really drunk at an AEPi party and Mark had half-carried him back to the dorms. Mark pulls away to unlock the door, and Eduardo shakes the memory away as he leans on the wall next to the door.

When Mark opens the door, a chorus of voices greets them, shouting different versions of _welcome home_ ; Mark looks as confused and angry as Eduardo feels, and he wonders what’s going on. In unison, they look at each other and mutter, _“Dustin.”_

Before Mark can stop it, people are hugging Eduardo, patting him on the back, smiling at him, crying over him, laughing at the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, and handing him beer. He excuses himself quickly and runs into the kitchen, tucking himself into the corner by the window; Mark finds Dustin and threatens to ice him out of Facebook if his house isn’t empty in the next thirty seconds, and glares at everyone as they exit. When he heads into the kitchen, Eduardo has calmed down, but hasn’t moved from his spot by the window.

Mark sits down opposite him and doesn’t say anything for a while. Finally, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” Eduardo bites back.

“I know, I’m sorry, that was a lot to handle. I told Dustin it would be a few days before you would be comfortable seeing anyone but --”

“No,” Eduardo interrupts. “Going home with you, being told I’m married to you and in love with you after everything, realizing I’ve cut my parents out of my life… _that_ was a lot to handle. This? All of these people I don’t know pulling at me and hugging me and crying in my face? That was total bullshit. Stop making excuses for Dustin, he’s a grown fucking man, and if he’s really my friend again like you say he is, he wouldn’t have done that.”

Mark nods curtly. “You’re right. He shouldn’t have done that. But, Wardo…” Mark hesitates when Eduardo flinches at the use of his old nickname. “He’s just… he isn’t built for serious things like this, Eduardo. Dustin’s moral compass has always been Chris, and even he… when the accident happened, Chris was one who insisted they be there at the hospital.” He stands up and tries very hard to contain himself to just leaning against the counter, fighting the urge to pace frantically. “Every time he left your bedside, even if it was just to grab a shower or get me some clean clothes or make sure I was eating or keeping an eye on your parents, no matter how long he was gone, he called me and made me stay on the phone with him the whole time. Because he didn’t want to miss you waking up or miss there being any news or anything. He’s been as worried as I have this whole time, and so maybe he dropped the ball a little with Dustin.” 

Mark moves around the counter and pulls out the coffee to put a pot on, if only to have something to do with his hands aside from gesturing wildly, or worse -- walking back to Eduardo and shaking him by the shoulders. “Dustin _should_ have known better. But he’s also _Dustin._ He’s never anything but optimistic, and he’s been trying desperately to hold onto that while you’ve been out. When you woke up and didn’t remember anything, I stumbled. But Dustin? I think he fell apart inside. You and I have always found our way back to each other, and when we got married I vowed to love you in all your forms. I knew my vows were being tested, but I hold to them. I will love you no matter where we go from here, and I will always believe we’ll find each other again. This party was probably just Dustin trying to keep believing that too.”

He holds up a mug and the pot of coffee to ask if Eduardo wants some, and pours him a cup when he nods. There’s a container of flavored creamer in the fridge that Mark can’t stand, and he pours a healthy measure into the mug, along with an ungodly amount of sugar before handing it to Eduardo, who mumbles a _thanks._

Mark sits back down at the table, and hesitates. “I’m sorry. You said to stop making excuses, and that’s all I just did. I’ll talk to Dustin later.”

Eduardo sips at his coffee, contemplating his response before saying, “No. That’s okay. You’re right. It’s just that…as far as I can recall, I haven’t thought about them in a long time. I’ve forgotten that’s what they’re like. Tonight was very Dustin, and looking at it from the outside, from the way you see it? It makes sense that this would be his response.” He takes another drink of his coffee and pats Mark’s arm absently before pulling his hand away. “Don’t make him feel any worse than he probably already does. But if it’s okay with him, and you, I’d like it to maybe just be the two of us for a little while? And then we can ease Chris and Dustin back in? Because in what’s left of my memory, I still resent all of you.”

“Resent? You don’t hate us?” Mark asks quietly.

“I never hated you, Mark,” Eduardo says. “I didn’t hate you when you introduced Sean Parker to the mix, just like I didn’t hate you when you made me feel guilty for being punched by the Phoenix. I didn’t hate you when you left for Palo Alto, or when you forgot to pick me up at the airport. Not when I froze the accounts. Not even when I filed suit. I just wanted your attention.”

Mark smiles. “You gave me that exact speech, almost verbatim, the first time we reconnected.”

“Did I?” Eduardo asks. “Huh. Maybe you weren’t lying after all.” He laughs at Mark’s frown, and Mark allows himself to bask in the hope that he hears in the sound.

* * *

Mark sleeps in one of their guest rooms that night, letting Eduardo take their room; he doesn’t know if he believes it’ll help Eduardo to wake up in their bed or not. All he knows is he has to do whatever it takes to not make Eduardo want to leave again. So he sleeps in the guest room. He’s awake before Eduardo’s alarm will go off. He makes a pot of coffee, even though he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t have any more -- he’s had so much since Wardo was hospitalized that he wouldn’t be surprised if his blood had been entirely replaced by coffee. He cooks all of Eduardo’s favorite breakfast foods, despite the fact that they very rarely have time to sit and eat together before work. He fusses over every detail until he’s certain it’s all perfect, and then he sits at the table and waits.

Just as Pavlovian theory predicts, Eduardo wakes up and follows the enticing smell of food to the kitchen; all of Mark’s stress is paid off in the form of the warm smile Eduardo greets him with, filling him with encouragement he didn’t realize he was looking for. Eduardo sits at the table directly across from Mark and for a moment they both forget that in Eduardo’s mind, they should be sitting this way at an entirely different table.

Eduardo grabs a plate and starts serving himself some food, an eyebrow quirked as he glances at Mark. “Do we always eat so extravagantly? I always thought I’d be chasing you around with a box of food for the rest of my life hoping to get you to maintain some sort of schedule for sustenance.”

Mark freezes for a second before grabbing a piece of toast to occupy his hands. “You _always_ thought? Even…even when you are now?”

Eduardo laughs softly. “ _When_ I am. What is this, Doctor Who?” He allows himself a few more seconds of giggling, takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs. “Yeah, Mark. Even during the depositions. I don’t know, I guess I always hoped you’d see sense. Apologize. Maybe. You were my best friend and I just thought I could matter as much to you as you do to me.”

He won’t meet Mark’s eye after that, and Mark doesn’t quite know what to say; he’s frozen on the use of the present tense, which is what tells him everything Eduardo just said is true. Everything he told him after they reconnected was true. Eduardo never hated Mark. Mark stands, and dashes into the living room, bringing back a DVD, a photo album, and a stack of papers. Eduardo finally looks at him, confusion all over his face.

“What’s all this?”

Mark sighs. “You’re gonna hate me for this, but I _really_ have to go into the office today. I’ve been away for nearly two weeks now, and if they don’t at least see that I’m alive, all hell will break loose. The DVD is our wedding. I dug it out last night, but Dustin filmed it so be wary -- it’s a little jarring. The photo album is a bunch of stuff you saved over the years, including your ticket from Singapore to SFO and our marriage license. The papers are the transcripts of the deposition. Go through them in whatever order you want, just know that this,” he points at the deposition, “wasn’t enough to keep us from getting to these,” he says, gesturing at the two other items.

Eduardo runs a shaky hand over the transcripts. “What if I read these and decide I don’t want to look at the other stuff?”

“You won’t.”

Somehow, Eduardo isn’t shocked to look up and see Mark wearing the same look of absolute certainty he’d had when he pulled Eduardo out of the AEPi party to pitch Facebook in the first place. “How can you be so sure?”

Mark shrugs, and Eduardo is struck by how familiar this all feels; he isn’t remembering anything of his current life, but Mark has been a part of so much of him that everything about him is familiar on some level. “Because you’re you, and the one thing you’ve never been able to resist is the mystery that is me,” Mark says.

He starts to lean in, as if he means to kiss Eduardo, but rethinks at the last second and instead awkwardly pats his shoulder. “I’ll try to be back soon. Your phone has all the emergency numbers if you need anything.”

Eduardo waves goodbye, and watches Mark leave before turning back to the items spread in front of him. After a moment’s hesitation, he decides to start with the DVD.

He sits down on the couch in the living room, and puts the disc in the player. He laughs, almost involuntarily, when he realizes that voicemail Mark had played him in the hospital was real -- they really did get married at the Getty, in front of a Van Gogh, no less. The video starts not with the ceremony, but with Dustin whispering conspiratorially to the camera. _“Okay, Operation Secret Wedding is officially underway. I wanted to call it Operation Iris but Mark said if I said that too many times, people would figure out where we’re gonna do it. And the goal is really to not be caught before we finish up. So, here we go.”_

Eduardo is torn between fondness and exasperation as Dustin continues his running commentary on the way to the painting where Eduardo is fiddling with Chris’s bowtie. _“You were always so terrible at these… Ask you to do a Windsor and you’ve got it perfect in seconds, but, God forbid, I request you wear a bowtie.”_

Eduardo finds fondness is quickly becoming the more dominant emotion as he watches the events unfold, amused and heartened to see Chris and Dustin haven’t really changed. The camera shifts suddenly, and Mark is rushing in the room. To Eduardo’s surprise, he’s also donning a tux and bowtie. Dustin shakes his head and mumbles something about Mark Zuckerberg being the only person on earth with the balls to be late to his own wedding. Mark ignores him and goes to stand next to Eduardo, the camera zooming in on the shy smiles they exchange.

The footage is definitely shaky and more than a little jarring, as Mark had warned, but when they begin their vows, it’s as though Dustin has been replaced by a professional cameraman. Everything goes still around the edges, and, as though he were there hearing them for the first time, Eduardo’s breath catches, listening to he and Mark exchange vows. _“I vow to help you love life... to live within the warmth of your heart and always call it home.”_ He isn’t sure when he became so sappy, but he supposes if he went through all that they apparently endured to get to that point, sappiness was a little necessary.

He is utterly unprepared for Mark’s vows, though. _“I vow to fiercely love you in all your forms, now and forever. I promise to never forget that this is a once-in-a-lifetime love. And to always know in the deepest part of my soul, no matter what challenges might carry us apart, that we'll always find the way back to each other.”_ Eduardo fumbles for the remote, rewinds, and watches Mark say the words again and again and again, until he can recite them verbatim; he doesn’t know what happened between the depositions and their wedding, but he thinks that maybe, just _maybe,_ Mark Zuckerberg became someone worthy of Eduardo’s unconditional love.

* * *

Eduardo watches the DVD of their wedding on a nonstop loop for over two hours before he finally stops and forces himself to accept that, somehow, he has allowed Mark back into his life. He decides then that he should probably start poring over the deposition transcripts next; he goes back to the kitchen with them in tow, and sits down near the coffee pot. After rifling through a few drawers, he finds a highlighter, and starts going through them. It takes him a few pages before he realizes what he’s highlighting -- it’s all the places Mark says something or Eduardo is reminded of something that makes this whole situation seem that much more impossible. His fingertips are stained yellow before he’s even a quarter of the way through, and any hope Mark’s wedding vows had instilled in him is gone.

He’s past the part in the transcript that he remembers living, and so he decides he should stop and get some fresh air. The doctor had been adamant that he wasn’t to drive anywhere without her express permission, but it’s a nice day out so he figures a walk can’t be so bad. He grabs the keys from the dish by the door that Mark had told him the night before were his, and locks up behind himself. At first, he’s afraid people will stare at him; it’s not as though the lawsuits were private, much less their...partnership? Marriage? He’s not sure how to label it considering he still can’t fully believe it. But, he finds, he blends into the other businessmen on the street like he was made to; nobody looks at him twice, despite the fact that the suit he’s wearing doesn’t seem to fit quite right and he’s got bruises on his face from the accident.

Although, he is not yet sure if Chris has put out a statement about the accident or not. If he hasn’t, that could explain why nobody is looking at him -- nobody would know to look out for a battered and bruised Eduardo Saverin. Regardless, he’s grateful for the anonymity. His time in Palo Alto was previously spent exclusively at the house Mark had rented that ill-fated summer, and so he doesn’t quite know where he’s going. When he dressed that morning, he instinctively grabbed his wallet from the bedside table where he’d left it the night before, so he decides to just follow his nose toward a cluster of restaurants before settling on a cafe.

When he enters, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t ever want to leave; the whole place smells like chocolate, coffee, and cake, but none of the scents seem to be mingling -- somehow they are all entirely independent of each other. He slowly approaches the counter, taking his time to glance at everything in the display case full of sweets. When he finally reaches the register, he hesitates, saying, “Uh, can I get….one of those?” He points to a chocolate croissant on the platter nearest him, not even sure if he likes them here. 

The barista frowns at him for a moment before asking, “You don’t want the usual?”

Eduardo nearly cries in relief. “I have a usual? Yeah, yeah, I’ll have the usual.” It turns out ‘the usual’ is a blonde brownie that is so smothered in chocolate chips that it may as well be a regular brownie, along with a cup of coffee so sweet, Eduardo is sure they may as well have put decaf for all the sugar that’s been pumped in. He sits in the back of the cafe and eats before heading back out into the streets. After nearly forty minutes of wandering, he realizes he has no idea where he is; he pats his pockets quickly, and curses at himself when he discovers he also forgot to bring the cell phone Mark had told him carried all the emergency numbers. Trying not to panic, he heads into the nearest shop and asks if he can borrow a phone.


	4. Chapter 4

Things at the office have been complete chaos since the accident, and Mark feels incredibly guilty for letting Facebook fall by the wayside; Dustin tells him he’s being stupid for feeling that way, that when he married Eduardo he had promised to put him above Facebook for once. Mark nods when reminded of this -- looks like the universe wasn’t fucking around when it came to calling him out on all his vows. Still, he could have checked in more than once; maybe then he could’ve avoided all the bugs in the new updates, or all the drinking that had apparently gone on after hours and resulted in needing to replace fifteen of the office desktops. (He really, _really,_ doesn’t want to know what exactly they did to cause that, no matter how much Dustin says it’s an _“Epic story, Mark!”_ )

Instead, Mark calls everyone together, briefly explains he and Eduardo were in a car accident, says Eduardo is fine but is taking longer to recuperate, and that he’ll mostly be working from home in the coming days. As soon as everyone disperses, he wires in and gets to work fixing everything that has managed to fall apart. By the time he’s done, it’s almost 4 in the afternoon; he quickly saves everything, and rushes out of the office without explanation. He knows Dustin will take care of that for him, and honestly, if any of his employees are shocked he’d be rushing home to a wounded Eduardo, they really don’t deserve all the benefits he makes sure they have.

He stops at a Thai place on the way home, picking up some of Eduardo’s favorite food, and practically runs up the front walk once he’s parked in the driveway. He kicks the door open awkwardly, fumbling with full hands and trying to get the key out of the lock without snapping it again. As soon as he gets it open, he’s calling out for Eduardo. When nobody responds, he tries not to panic; he supposes if he’d been flung through the windshield and woken up with amnesia, he might try to sleep it off or something of the like. Instead, he sets the food down on the kitchen counter, and starts checking all the rooms; when he doesn’t find Eduardo inside, he checks the yard. His search yields no results, and now, Mark starts to panic. He runs inside and a whine escapes him when he sees that Eduardo didn’t take the cell phone with him, so Mark has no way of figuring out where he could have gone.

Just as he’s about to call Chris in a blind panic, he sees the deposition transcripts spread out on the table, highlighted within an inch of their life. He flips through it quickly to see what Eduardo was highlighting, and by the time he pulls his phone out to call Chris, his panic has subsided into a far worse feeling of absolute dread. Chris answers after one ring, as usual, and Mark prays his voice doesn’t sound as full of despair as he is. “Eduardo’s gone, he didn’t take his phone, and I have no idea if he knows how to get back here. He definitely doesn’t know my new cell phone number.”

“Okay, Mark, breathe, I’m on my way over. Maybe he just went for a walk, okay? And if he gets lost, he can call a cab to bring him to the offices right? Let’s just...not panic yet.”

Mark can tell Chris is about to hang up, so he blurts, “I let him read the deposition transcripts.” Chris groans, and Mark can hear him whispering to Dustin. “I let him read them because I thought he had a right to know what went wrong and that we found a way to come back from it. But he’s gone and highlighted everything I said wrong, every story he told that made me a villain. I think he hates me, even though he said before that he didn’t. I think I made him hate me this time.”

“Mark, you know there’s no way --”

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

“Mark --”

“Don’t say it’s not a possibility, Chris. What if he doesn’t come back?”

He can hear Chris sigh and suddenly it’s Dustin’s voice on the phone. “He’s going to come back, Mark. When does Wardo ever manage to stay away from you?”

“Last time he managed three years.” Mark hates how scared he sounds, but there’s no lie in his tone; he’s terrified that there’s nothing he can do to get Eduardo to come back if he fucks it up this time. Last time, he had the benefit of them growing, separately, for three years; this time, he’s grown, but Eduardo is stuck in the past, literally and figuratively. “What if it’s different? I’m different this time, who’s to say he’s for sure going to find his way back around this time?”

Neither Dustin nor Chris says anything, and Mark worries that their silence says more than words ever could; they don’t hang up, and when they get to his house, they let themselves in. Dustin immediately goes to Mark’s side and throws an arm over his shoulders; together, they watch Chris try to unravel the mystery of what exactly Eduardo did before he disappeared.

* * *

Chris has split them up and sent them in different directions, checking businesses and storefronts to see if anyone has seen Eduardo; they figure out that he stopped at the cafe, and Chris rationalizes that he probably just got lost and is potentially out getting to know Palo Alto before he gives in and calls for a cab to the offices. Mark accepts this, if only because it’s a far better option to believing that Eduardo is boarding a plane with his parents, which is the scenario he’s been envisioning since he found the highlighted transcripts.

They head back to Mark’s and wait; Mark paces, Chris is in the kitchen baking cookies -- he’s from the South and _that’s a Thing people do to cope, shut the fuck up Dustin_ \-- and Dustin is playing Halo in the living room. Around 9, the front door opens and Eduardo comes in looking bashful, carrying a several shopping bags. Chris and Dustin watch Mark with fond amusement as he very clearly struggles to not jump on him while also biting back anything he may want to shout at him for causing worry. Somehow, he manages to ask, _“Where have you been?”_ without sounding angry. (Chris wonders if it’s worse that he sounds defeated.)

Eduardo carefully sets down his bags and leans against the front door. “I went for a walk, but I completely forgot about the cell phone… I’d been reading the transcripts and I just got so angry and confused, and I needed air. So I grabbed my wallet and what looked like house keys, and just went exploring. I found the cafe from the wedding vows and got something and then I couldn’t remember which way I’d come from. I wasn’t sure if...I didn’t think I could handle going to the offices. So I borrowed someone’s phone and I tried to call you but…” 

Eduardo trails off and looks at Mark, eyes apologetic and a little forlorn. “I guess you _would_ have changed your number after the lawsuit. But I don’t know your new one, and Dustin and Chris’s are new too, so I called my mom. She took me into the city and we got me some new suits because for whatever reason future me has stopped wearing them or at least stopped having them tailored, and I dunno, we just. Made a day of it, I guess.”

Mark has been sitting almost stock-still for the entirety of Eduardo’s speech, and Dustin and Chris seem to both become aware of this fact at the same time. Worried about what he’s about to burst out with, they both open their mouths to speak, but he beats them to the punch.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Eduardo asks uncertainly.

“Okay. Just, try to keep the phone in your pocket from now on? If you can? I was worried. We all were.”

“Who are you and what the hell have you done with Mark Zuckerberg?” Eduardo asks, laughing almost hysterically.

Mark shrugs. “I keep trying to tell you, we both grew up after the depositions. Maybe one day you’ll believe me. If you don’t remember, that is.”

Eduardo smiles at Mark, and it’s stunningly like the way he used to smile at him in the Kirkland dorm, back before FaceMash and Facebook and everything bad; it feels like home, to all of them. Mark smiles back, dimple and all, and Chris awkwardly wipes his hands on his apron.

“Well...did you eat dinner, Wardo? I’m making cookies, which isn’t actually dinner but…”

Eduardo laughs and plops onto the couch next to Dustin. “You’re _baking?_ I drove you to stress baking? I should go missing more often, because honestly, it smells amazing in here.” He nudges Dustin with his elbow as he says this, and Dustin grins broadly at him.

“I’m with Wardo, man. You gotta bake more often, Christopher. Also, that apron is _very_ becoming,” he adds, his grin turning leery. Chris whips it off and throws it at him, missing dreadfully and hitting Mark instead.

Mark picks it up from the floor and frowns at it. “Wait, where did you even _get_ this?”

“It was in one of the drawers,” Chris says with a shrug. “Must be Wardo’s?”

Eduardo gets a look on his face that’s something like disgust, and shakes his head. “Have any of you ever seen me wearing something _floral?”_

Dustin is choking trying to rein in his laughter and they all turn to him slowly. He holds up his hand in surrender and says, “Okay, okay. It _is_ Wardo’s. I gave it to him the night before the wedding as a joke because I kept calling him Mrs. Zuckerberg and I said all self-respecting housewives have nice aprons. He wore it all night before the wedding and when he woke up with it still tied around his waist, he wouldn’t stop glaring at me.”

There’s a beat of silence before they all start howling with laughter, Eduardo wiping tears from his eyes. “Okay, that sounds more believable. _Please,_ tell me you’ve got photos of that.”

Dustin pulls out his phone as Chris goes back into the kitchen at the sound of the timer and says, “Dude, I’ve got photos of _everything.”_

Mark watches them all and feels something loosening in his chest; for a moment, he allows himself to hope. Maybe, even if Eduardo doesn’t remember, maybe he’ll stay. Maybe he’ll stay anyway.

* * *

After Chris and Dustin leave, Mark helps Eduardo carry his bags up to the bedroom; they move in silence, but it’s less awkward than any they’ve shared so far. As if it’s muscle memory, they maneuver around each other in perfect harmony, and within a few minutes, all of Eduardo’s new suits are hung neatly in the closet. Eduardo hops up on the bed and Mark stands awkwardly to the side, hands in his pockets. Before he has a chance to say goodnight and bolt downstairs, Eduardo starts talking.

“So,” he says, “my mom invited us to dinner. Tomorrow night. I said yes, but you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Mark frowns. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“You don’t exactly give the impression that you like or even respect them,” Eduardo admonishes. He hopes his voice doesn’t sound unkind, because it’s more observation than accusation.

“There’s a lot that’s happened over the years that you don’t know about, Wardo. But it’s not my place to tell you those things, because they’re things that happened before we found each other again; they’re your story, not ours. If your parents decide to tell you, then you can decide where to go from there. If not, if you’d all rather reconnect from here, that’s also your choice. I won’t stand in your way, and if you choose the latter, I’ll find a way to like them. For you.” He shrugs and digs his hands deeper into his pockets.

Eduardo is staring at him, as though he’s sizing him up. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “My mother hinted at something, but I don’t think she wants to talk about it. I don’t know if I want to know. I just… they’re my _parents,_ Mark. And for the first time in my memory, they’re actually showing me they care.”

Mark nods; he remembers a time when Eduardo was _desperate_ for their attention. “I understand, Wardo. I do. What time is dinner, and do I have to dress...nicely?”

This garners a laugh from Eduardo, and a nod. “Yes, Mark, you have to dress _nicely._ I’ll pick something out for you, if I have to. And dinner’s at 7, at some Italian place in the city? She said she’d email you. Which, I never thought I’d see a day when my mother knows how to contact you but I don’t.”

Mark laughs at that, almost surprised at the sound as it leaves him. “Well, your mother didn’t go flying through a windshield. There’s bound to be a few things she’s better at than you now.” He worries for a brief second that it’s too soon to make jokes about the accident, but Eduardo takes it in his stride, laughing and clutching at his chest as though he’s wounded by Mark’s implication that he’s somehow come out of the accident with a lowered IQ. 

“You’ve gotta stop spending so much time with Dustin,” Eduardo says when they’ve stopped giggling. Mark nods in agreement, and makes to leave the room; he’s halfway into the hallway when Eduardo calls him back.

“Mark?”

“Yeah, Wardo?”

“I…”

Mark takes his hands out of his pockets and leans against the doorframe. “It’s just me, Wardo. You can say whatever you need to say.” He prays it’s not a prelude to goodbye.

“I just wanted to say thank you. You could be making this a lot harder on me than you are, but you’re being very…understanding. So. Thanks.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate this time; he crosses the room slowly, giving Eduardo plenty of time to stop him if he chooses. When he doesn’t move, Mark continues, until he’s standing in front of him, and simply wraps his arms around him. There’s an awkward undertone to the embrace at first, but, eventually, Eduardo hugs him back. Mark lets go shortly thereafter, and says, “I told you, Wardo. Whatever you want to do, I’m going to do it. I _want_ you to stay. Hell, I think a large part of me _needs_ you to. But I won’t make you. What I will do is try to show you why you should.”

He makes to leave again, pausing at the door before turning to look at Eduardo one more time. “You may be a different Eduardo than the one I married, but you’re the same Eduardo I fell in love with. And all I want is for you to be happy. So if that means pretending I dress nicely for dinner every night, if that means leaving the office before dark, if that means sleeping downstairs when I’d rather be in here with you, I’ll do it. Whatever it takes. Because I _do_ hope you’ll remember us. If you don’t, I hope you’ll find a way to love me anyway. And if you have to leave to be happy, I hope we can at least be friends this time. I just want you to be happy, Wardo. Nothing more.”

He leaves the room quickly after that, and Eduardo lies down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, unsure of what he’s feeling.

* * *

Mark doesn’t go as intense the next day, simply making a pot of coffee and some pancakes, which he leaves in a warmer for Eduardo to find whenever he wakes up; on the table, he leaves a note saying he’ll be at the office, and to please call if there’s an emergency, and _for the love of God, Wardo, please remember the phone if you leave today._ When Eduardo finds it, he smiles, and makes a point to tuck the phone into his pocket. As soon as he does, he pulls it back out, and scrolls through the contact list to call Dustin.

“Wardo! You figured out how to use the phone like a big boy!”

Eduardo laughs, surprised he expected anything less in greeting. “Hey, Dustin. I didn’t want to call Mark in case he’s wired in, but can you please remind him to come home early tonight so he can change for dinner? And remind him he already agreed to dress nicely and that it’s my _parents_ and he needs at least an hour to somehow stop looking like he does at the office all day.”

“You got it, dude. I live for days when I get to boss around the boss. Anything else I should toss in there?”

“Nah, I think that covers it. Thanks, man, see you,” he says, mildly shocked at how easy it is for the two of them to fall back into their old friendship. _Although,_ he thinks, _it’s not old for Dustin._

“Any time, Wardo. Also, in case you forgot, texting is totally a thing too,” he teases.

“Shut the fuck up, Moskovitz.”

“Love you too, Wardo.”

Eduardo shakes his head and hangs up, stuffing the phone back in his pocket and pouring a cup of coffee. He pulls out the transcripts again, along with another highlighter, this time blue. Instead of looking for reasons to hate Mark, he tries to find reasons to trust him again, knowing there has to be something… 

* * *

Mark is on edge the entire day, even though he’s wired in and completely lost in his own mind; he wants to write it off as being concerned about what might be said at tonight’s dinner, but something tells him that’s not actually the case. Dustin hovering all day doesn’t help, and Mark snaps at him more harshly than he intends to -- certainly more harshly than he has in months.

He feels a twinge of guilt when Dustin loses just a hint of his over-the-top enthusiasm and slinks back to his desk, resolving to apologize later somehow; in the meantime, there’s a bug in the newsfeed that he can’t seem to locate, and he’d really like to get it done before dinner, lest he be tempted to fix his phone to his hand and make sure Dustin gets it handled.

As soon as he finds the bug and fixes the line of code that somehow got messed up, he closes his computer and starts preparing to go home, hoping to surprise Eduardo with both his punctuality and how much care he’s putting to this dinner that Eduardo is clearly very hopeful about. As he leaves, he pauses at Dustin’s desk; not for the first time, Dustin completely ignores him.

It hurts every time it happens, but Mark always reminds himself it’s because of something he said or did, and then the hurt turns into guilt again. Mark hesitates, standing awkwardly behind Dustin, and eventually puts his hand on Dustin’s shoulder. There’s a pleasant wave of surprise when Dustin seems to lean into the touch rather than attempting to pull away, and Mark increases the pressure of his grip.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, Dustin,” he says softly. “Things are just…”

Dustin leans his cheek against Mark’s hand, still typing away at the code on his screen. “I know, Mark. But you know Chris and I are here for you and Wardo no matter what, right? It’s basically in our job description, somewhere between all the zeroes on our salaries.”

Mark laughs and nudges his hand up, digging slightly into Dustin’s cheek. “Why do you think you have all those zeroes in the first place?”

Dustin turns abruptly in his chair, throwing Mark’s hand off his shoulder; he’s staring up at Mark seriously, and Mark is unsure whether he wants to know what’s going through Dustin’s mind. He doesn’t have much of a choice, of course, because Dustin speaks before Mark has a second to try and shake him off. “You guys are literally fairy-tale true love, okay, Marky? You’ve got this.” He stands, hugs Mark tightly, and claps him on the back. “Now, go get all handsome for dinner, impress the insufferable in-laws, and maybe you’ll get to kiss the prince before bed.”

* * *

Mark gets home and ignores the shock on Eduardo’s face; the shock in his voice is harder to ignore, though, and Mark fights a laugh as Eduardo says, “It’s 4:30. In the afternoon. And you’re off your computer? Is this...am I dreaming? I’m dreaming. This whole thing is a mirage. Are you really Mark Zuckerberg or a synthezoid version sent here to kill me? Wait, why would they replace a robot with a robot, that doesn’t make any--”

“Shut up, Wardo,” Mark says, shoving him playfully and kissing him quickly before realizing his mistake. The second his actions register in his mind, he bolts to the guest room he’s been staying in and closes the door. He’s halfway through meticulously dressing in one of his fancier suits when there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Mark?” Wardo calls out uncertainly. “Can I come in?”

Mark decides it’s okay to open the door, as he’s at least got pants and an undershirt on, and slowly shuffles over to do so. They both stay where they’re standing, awkward and uncertain. Finally, Mark shrugs and goes back to getting ready. He’s digging through his dresser, trying to find one of the fancy pairs of socks Chris bought him last Christmas while Eduardo carefully sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Mark, can you at least look at me?” he asks gently.

Mark finds the pair of socks he was after and turns to Eduardo. “Do you think these are okay? I only have a few nice pairs and --”

“Mark, I don’t care what socks you wear. I really don’t. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

Mark scowls and sits on the armchair in the corner of the room and starts pulling them on. “Don’t let me stop you, Eduardo. Talk away.”

Eduardo lets out a sound somewhere between exasperation and laughter. “Goddammit, Mark, if anyone here should be disgruntled, it’s me. _You_ kissed _me_ , remember? And last I checked, _I’m_ the one who has amnesia and should be upset by this. Yet you run away like you accidentally slapped me and when I try to calmly talk to you about it, you’re angry. I just don’t get it, Mark. What do you want from me?”

Mark stops, his left sock pulled halfway onto his foot; his shoulders fall only slightly, and he sighs. “You’re right. I panicked, okay?” He looks up at Eduardo, taking care to guard his face of any emotion. “You’ve been so…on edge. But today I came home and everything felt so normal, so much like how it used to be. I slipped today. I fell into an old pattern too easily and I kissed you, and then I remebered things _aren’t_ like they used to be and I panicked. I thought you’d be angry with me.”

Eduardo huffs out a laugh. “I thought I would be too. I was mostly surprised, if I’m being totally honest. It wasn’t exactly terrible. And it’s not like I haven’t thought about it before. I mean, even when we actually were suing each other. But, just…maybe we could wait a little while before we try it again? Preferably not on a night we’re going to see my parents, because as it is I’m pretty sure I’ll be spending the entire dinner thinking about it and this one was barely more than a second long.”

Mark shrugs, tries desperately to think about anything other than the faint pink flush on Eduardo’s face, and sets back to work at pulling his socks on just right. “Fair enough.” He stands, and heads back toward the closet to pull out his button-down. “You’re sure you’re not pissed at me?”

He flinches when something hits him, and turns to see a pillow at his feet, and Eduardo on the bed giggling quietly to himself. Eduardo takes a moment to collect himself before saying, “No, Mark, I’m not pissed at you. But if you think you’re going to dinner with my parents with your hair looking like that, you’ve completely lost it and I’ll have to tell Chris to find us a new CEO.”

Mark scowls again and starts mumbling about _gravity defying hair_ and _not fair_ and _never complained before_ as Eduardo laughs and slips out of the room before the pillow can be thrown back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is as far as I've gotten so far. sort of. there's another chunk but it's the start of chapter 5 and wouldn't make sense tacked onto here. so. I should hopefully have more of this really really soon. anyway enjoy!


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